


To Old Friends

by RMWrites



Series: Joja Coffee Hour [2]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Building up some Joja Lore one drabble at a time, Gen, and and excuse to write as many of my ocs as possible, not in chronological order so you can read this one whenever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RMWrites/pseuds/RMWrites
Summary: JojaCorp welcomes in a new CEO as the owner steps down into semi-retirement. Two acquaintances meet up to talk in an empty office and silent hallways.
Relationships: Original Joja Employee & Original Joja Employee
Series: Joja Coffee Hour [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902886
Kudos: 5





	To Old Friends

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I am continuing my streak of Jojaness.

_“Today, is the beginning of a new era,”_ the man behind the podium began, white mustache twitching as he spoke under the flash of cameras. _“In the past thirty years, there hasn’t been another CEO beside myself, and I am not as young as I used to be.”_

The old, portly man smiled to the crowd of reporters and board members, who chuckled along with the owner of the company. _“The last ten years we have grown exponentially, reaching into many facets of industry that I had never dreamed of back when I opened my first JojaMart in Jewel City. The company needs younger eyes to rise us to the heavens, someone who knows the demands of our company and our country in these trying times. It took a long time and a lot of soul searching, but I am pleased to announce and introduce you to JojaCorp’s new CEO-!”_

“I look pretty good, don’t I?” a man spoke in the dark office, his silhouette outlined by the glare of the TV. He leaned back against the front of his new desk, bare and ready to be personalized, rain tapping against the large windows set into the inky night sky and the drone of the air circulation the only accompanying sounds to the voices on the screen. “The lighting didn’t make me ghastly pale as I thought it would.”

A snort came from a nearby chair, the gentle clink of glass as another shadowy form filled a glass with the celebratory whiskey they split between them.

The first shadow’s head turned towards the chair, red eyes almost glowing in the artificial light, a smirk crossing handsome features.

“Come on, Perce, don’t be so rude on my inaugural day. I am your boss now, after all, so you have to play nice.”

“I will “play nice” as much as you earn it,” came the low tones of the other man, the scrape of glass sliding across the desk in silent offer to the red-eyed man. “And nothing despises me more than the narcissistic preening of a peacock.”

“Don’t be mean, Percy-“

“It’s Percival.”

“Per. Ci. Val.” The man enunciated every syllable in a slow, lazy drawl, his smirk never fading from his lips as he picked up his glass, chuckling into the whiskey. “Even after all these years, you’ve never changed a bit. From a grouchy teenager to a grouchier adult. I shouldn’t have expected anything less.”

Percival didn’t bother with a reply, their attention falling back to the screen where the press conference continued. Red eyes were covered by rose-tinted glasses of the man on the screen, slate grey hair almost blue in the light as he smirked and smiled in his designer suit with the top three buttons tastefully undone to expose more tanned skin. A suave man who knew how to work the crowd, a pretty face to distract and be underestimated.

A critical mistake to make, when dealing with Eugene Cross.

“We have a lot of work to do,” Cross hummed around his drink, his tone ticking towards a serious inflection as he continued to watch the TV. “Mr. Joja let cockroaches crawl into the gaps when he wasn’t looking. Our profits from the war will suffer if we let this infestation continue.”

“I’ve already started an investigation on my end,” came Percival’s response from his shadowed seat. “I’ll send my initial findings to you in person.”

Cross gave Percival a lazy salute with his glass before downing the rest of his drink. The glass clinked against the desk, sliding across its surface back to his guest for a refill, which was dutifully poured and pushed back to his waiting fingers.

“To old friends,” Cross toasted with a wink, which was received with a soft huff. Silver eyes glinted in the pale light as Percival leaned forward in his seat and into the ghostly beam, the scars on his face almost pitch black in their shadows as he lifted his own glass in return.

“To a better future.”

“I can drink to that.”

And in the dark, empty office, two men sat and drank under the flickering lights of the TV, plotting the course of a company.


End file.
